


Might Tell You Tonight

by slash4femme



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Kissing, M/M, Making Out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-28
Updated: 2014-03-28
Packaged: 2018-01-17 09:21:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1382215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slash4femme/pseuds/slash4femme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A slow coming together of two people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Might Tell You Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written November 2009 
> 
> Written for [](http://mkettler.livejournal.com/profile)[**mkettler**](http://mkettler.livejournal.com/) as a birthday fic. Happy Birthday!beta read by [](http://cardiac-logic.livejournal.com/profile)[**cardiac_logic**](http://cardiac-logic.livejournal.com/)written as a follow up fic for [The Naked Time](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rAM5gRsmdA0)

I.

McCoy leans back and sighs. The last day or so had been pretty much hell, with the disease that had spread through the crew taking away all of their inhibitions, coupled with a near death experience. McCoy himself had managed not to be infected, but he was one of the only few that had. Spock especially had been very troubled by his loss of control, and although the details of that loss of control that Kirk had given him had been sketchy, McCoy could well imagine how it must have affected Spock. He sighs again and rubs his forehead, shutting down his office computer. He’s worried about Spock, and he knows he shouldn’t be; no permanent damage was done and Spock will get over it. Besides, McCoy tells himself, it’s not like Spock would even open up to him enough for him to actually help the other man. He fights down the bitterness at that and shakes his head. It’s useless to want what he can’t have, but that’s never stopped him before.

McCoy stands with another sigh and heads out of his office towards his quarters; he’s tired and he worked two extra shifts just to make sure that everyone was in fact really all right, from both the alien disease and the time travel. Time travel - dear Lord, he didn’t know what they were doing out here sometimes. On the other hand it could have been far, far worse; they’d only lost one man after all. One man he should have saved, but still, that was the way of this job; he’d accepted that a long time ago.

“Doctor McCoy.”

McCoy looks up to find Spock standing against, but not quite touching, the wall near McCoy’s quarters.

“Spock.”

Spock shifts very slightly, hands clasping and unclasping before him in a strangely unsettled gesture for him. McCoy watches Spock’s long fingered hands until Spock seems to realize what he’s doing and clasps his hands behind his back.

“I wish to speak with you, Doctor,” Spock says, stiff and formal, but his body language is strange, almost fragile.

“Ok.” McCoy keys open the door and waves him inside, belatedly realizing he hasn’t tidied in a while and there are books and journal articles everywhere, scattered around the main room. “What do you want to talk about Spock?” McCoy sits at his desk and motions Spock to sit on the couch but Spock stands stiffly in the middle of the room instead. McCoy inwardly sighs. “Spock?”

“When I was under the influence of the disease, I could not control my emotions as I usually do.” Spock stops and McCoy suddenly notices that his hands are shaking ever so slightly.

His first instinct is to reach out and touch the other man, try to comfort him somehow, but he doesn’t; he knows how Spock feels about unwanted physical closeness. Spock straightens even more, “Several things became apparent to me.” His voice is completely emotionless but his body still shakes. “I had thought now would be as good a time as any to address some of them with you, Doctor; however I am finding that I am not . . .” Spock stops, head bowing slightly, and McCoy moves half out of his chair without realizing he’s actually doing it. “I must leave,” Spock finally tells him, “We will speak of this later, Doctor.”

He turns and is gone before McCoy’s wrapped his head around what just happened enough to stop him.

II.

For two days Spock avoids him and McCoy pretends not to notice, tries to give Spock some room.

“Doctor.”

McCoy looks up from the report he’s been attempting to write. “Yeah, Spock?”

“May I speak with you?”

“Of course.” McCoy sets aside the report and looks at the other man, folding his hands on the top of the desk. “How may I help you?”

Spock pauses in the doorway for a second and then moves into the room. “I thought perhaps we could finish the conversation we started several days ago.” He clasps his hands behind his back. He isn’t shaking any more and his voice is emotionless and steady, but McCoy can still feel unease radiating off the other man.

“Spock.” He gets up and moves around his desk to stand close to, but not quite touching, the other man. “Let’s have dinner first, ok?”

Spock looks down at him and McCoy reaches out, grasps Spock’s upper arm briefly, being careful not to touch bare skin. Finally Spock nods and they make their way to the officer’s mess hall together.

 

III.

“OK, Spock.” They are in McCoy’s quarters again, after a nice if rather quiet dinner, and McCoy keys the door shut and turns to looks at the other man, “What’s this all about?”

Spock stands stiffly in the middle of McCoy’s now much neater common room, hands clasped behind his back. McCoy watches him closely, tries to understand what’s going on here. Spock takes a long breath, as if steeling himself for something, then finally meets McCoy’s eyes squarely.

“When I was under the influence of the disease, I realized that my own shame and denial of my human emotions may well hurt those I do not wish to see harm come to.” Spock is standing so straight McCoy’s back aches in sympathy, and he seems to be forcing each word out. “One of those people would be you, Doctor.”

McCoy blinks, then takes a step towards Spock before stopping. “Spock . . .” He thinks about it, thinks about the fights they have been having since he was assigned to this ship. Then he really thinks about what Kirk had told him of Spock’s loss of control, really thinks about what Spock has just said to him. “Spock, I . . .” This should be easy, he thinks hazily, he should have the words for this; it’s not like he usually has trouble talking, but the words don’t come.He reaches out and touches Spock’s arm, and Spock flinches like he’s been slapped and McCoy jerks his hand back and Spock reaches out and catches it in his own. They both stand there for a long moment, staring at each other, and Spock’s fingers are long, hot and very strong but his hold on McCoy’s hand is gentle. McCoy takes a long breath, tries to think of something to say, and fails. Spock slowly lifts their joined hands, spreads his fingers open, forcing McCoy to do the same, presses their palms together. McCoy doesn’t know what this is exactly but he understands the intimacy of it, and Spock is a touch telepath with particularly sensitive hands, and McCoy knows these are facts so he can only image what this slow press of hands, what Spock’s fingers gently stroking along his own, can mean. His breath catches and Spock’s eyes are dark, intense and far too emotional.

 

Then suddenly Spock’s hand drops from McCoy’s and Spock takes a step back. “Doctor,” Spock says and McCoy hears the slight breathlessness behind the words, thinks he’s the cause of that, and it takes everything in him not to lunge forward and kiss the other man. “Doctor, I must inform you that my parents have picked a mate for me, a Vulcan mate, whom I am meant to bond with on my return to Vulcan.”

They stare at each other and McCoy stamps hard on the little bit of hope that had risen up in him, and silently curses himself for an idiot. He should have known; Spock is beautiful, kind and brilliant, and what Vulcan woman in her right mind wouldn’t want him?

“If . . .” Spock hesitates for a moment. “If you were to agree to enter into a relationship with me, I would declare my intent to take you as a mate instead.”

They stare at each other and McCoy realizes what Spock’s telling him; he has to make a choice - it’s going to have to be either all of Spock or none at all, and somehow he’s not that surprised. McCoy thinks about Spock, thinks about how close they’ve already come to dying dozens of times and the five years are nowhere close to being over. He thinks about their fights, he thinks about his marriage, and how royally he’s able to fuck things up.

Tentatively Spock reaches out his hands again, palm up, and after a long moment McCoy lets his hand come to rest against Spock’s. Spock’s fingers close around McCoy’s hand, draw him closer to Spock; Spock’s fingers rub against McCoy’s own, draw meaningless patterns across McCoy’s wrists and palm, twist with McCoy’s own fingers.

“What,” McCoy’s voice has gone deep and husky just from this simple touch and he clears his throat. “What is this?” He raises their joined hands, and Spock tilts his head to one side thinking.

“The closest human equivalent, I think, would be kissing,” he tells McCoy, rubbing his thumb across McCoy’s palm and then untangling their fingers. He holds two fingers pressed together extended towards McCoy, his other hand coming up; wrapping it around McCoy’s hand he forms McCoy’s fingers into the same gesture and then guides McCoy’s hand so that their fingers touch and slide together. “This is the only sign of affection Vulcan mates are allowed in public,” Spock tells him softly, “It may seem like just a simple touch to you . . .”

“But if I were a touch telepath, it’d be something else altogether,” McCoy finishes for him and traces Spock’s fingers with his own, hears Spock’s breath catch very slightly. He looks up at Spock and then lets their hands drop away from each other. He brings both of his hands up and cups Spock’s face with them, touching the curve of Spock’s jaw gently, letting his thumbs rub across Spock’s cheeks and Spock lets him, tilts his face down very slightly towards McCoy.McCoy leans forward very slightly and kisses Spock on the lips. For a moment nothing happens; Spock’s lips are hot, soft and thin but he doesn’t respond and then McCoy pushes against him very gently, runs his tongue along Spock’s bottom lip and Spock’s mouth opens underneath his. Spock’s hands come up, fluttering around McCoy’s body as if not sure where to touch, and finally settle on McCoy’s waist. They both push forward suddenly, their bodies pushing together, and Spock is strong and almost unbearably hot against McCoy’s own body, his large hands pressing against McCoy’s waist, and McCoy twists his own fingers in Spock’s dark hair.

Somehow they manage to move and collapse onto McCoy’s couch and McCoy breaks away from Spock’s lips, from the hot, wet depth of Spock’s mouth, to trace the shape of Spock’s jaw with tiny, gentle kisses. His hands find Spock’s, their fingers twisting and rubbing together, and it feels so good; it feels so wonderful to touch each other after a year and a half of McCoy telling himself Spock was strictly off limits. Spock presses his body against McCoy’s like he’s starved for touch, like his whole body yearns for this closeness. McCoy can’t help but gasp against the heat of Spock’s skin and Spock detangles his hands from McCoy’s to grasp the other man around the waist and lift him easily, until he’s almost in Spock’s lap, and McCoy kisses down Spock’s neck and Spock’s hands come up to touch McCoy’s hair, the back of his neck, his shoulders - little light, gentle touches, just exploring McCoy’s body. McCoy presses their chests together, kisses Spock’s lips again, strokes his hands up Spock’s neck and around, lightly touching the tips of his ears. They’re twisted together on McCoy’s couch with the door unlocked, making out like teenagers and McCoy really doesn’t care. In fact Kirk could walk through the door and he really wouldn’t care, because Spock’s hands are strong, wide and gentle, exploring his body, pushing up his shirt to run tentative fingers across his belly and chest. McCoy pulls back from Spock just far enough to see his eyes and they are wide, dark, and so very unguarded and Spock licks his lips.

“Doctor.”

“Leonard.” McCoy leans forward and kisses him again. “It’s Leonard.”

“Leonard,” Spock says softly and McCoy had thought that he couldn’t get anymore turned on but evidently he’d been wrong. “I desire . . .”

The comm. on the wall crackles and Uhura’s voice sounds calm and far too loud in the quiet room. “Mr. Spock? Mr. Spock report to the bridge.”

Spock’s hands tighten on McCoy’s waist but his face gives nothing away and McCoy’s emergency communicator goes off as well. McCoy sighs for the both of them and slides off Spock’s lap and walks over to his desk. “McCoy here.” He doesn’t try to keep the frustration out of his voice.

“Sorry about this Doctor,” Chapel’s voice sounds over the communicator, “but we need you down in sickbay.”

McCoy glances up at Spock who’s already standing, smoothing down his shirt, and wonders if this is how their relationship is always going to be and then decides it’s probably worth it.“Be right there.”He clicks the communication link off and then walks over to Spock and kisses him lightly on the cheek. “Tonight,” he says softly, “if you want, you can come back here.”

Spock only nods and then hesitates for a moment before offering McCoy two fingers and McCoy smiles slightly before tracing them with his own.

 

  



End file.
